


Tell Me Baby, Who Do You Wanna Be?

by Fontainebleau



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Kobra Kid and Jet Star, Slice of Zones Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: ‘Why did you come, then?’ Shell stepped over the lip of the pond to rack the squeegee and Rosa skipped back out of range.‘To show you something that’ll make you smile.’ She reached into her pocket to bring out a square of paper; Shell showed her gunky hands, so Rosa unfolded the flier and held it up for her to see. ‘Comicsans Samurai, at the Pit. And…’At the sight of the familiar logo Shell whooped like a glad’ fan. ‘Bleach Bouquet? For real?’
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	Tell Me Baby, Who Do You Wanna Be?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moondragon8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moondragon8/gifts).



> This is my gift for the Killjoys Halloween Gift Exchange! Lillith asked for headcanons about the Zones, so here's a look into Zones life when Shell and her best friend Zona Rosa meet a sand pup fresh out of Battery City.
> 
> Headcanons for this story:  
> \- high levels of background radiation have effects on all zonesdwellers, especially those born out in the Zones  
> \- killjoys may not work but someone has to, and zonesdwellers do all kinds of jobs to keep everything working  
> \- the Zones don't run on dogfood alone: all kinds of foods are produced on small farms and exchanged at the Zone 3 market  
> \- zonesdwellers come from a variety of cultures and backgrounds

‘Heya, bestie!’ At the sound of the polydome entrance unzipping Shell straightened up from scrubbing the bottom of the empty brine pond, pushing back the straggle of hair that had escaped from under her scarf. Of course Rosa had to turn up when Shell was doing the worst, stinkiest job, with streaks of reeking algae all over her face and cutdown overalls. Shell waited, the squeegee dripping green water, as Rosa picked her way through the tangle of hoses and connector cables to the side of the pond, blue-hot fashionplate in her ElectroKat jacket and killer boots. She screwed up her face at the scent of the brine bilge, ripe as rotten cheese. ‘I never remember quite how bad that is.’ 

Zona Rosa, all razor smile and long dark hair: she and Shell were best friends, they’d seen each other puking and sick and scared, and it shouldn’t have mattered that Rosa was seeing her hard at work now, but somehow it still did. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Shell went back to shoving the squeegee across the bottom of the pond. ‘Didn’t Bella leave you in charge of the compound?’ Rosa’s mother’s a circuit digger, one of the best: when she was off on a scavenging run Rosa was supposed stay home and keep an eye on things. A lot of shiny stuff at their place and a lot of crews that wouldn’t think twice about helping themselves.

Rosa shrugged. ‘Tehachapi’s there. Said he’d stay while I was out.’ 

‘So you came to help out here instead?’ Shell couldn’t curb the tinge of resentment that crept into her voice as she kept on scrubbing. 

Rosa followed her round the rim of the pond. ‘Don’t be mad, sparkle. You know I’d be in there with you if I could.’ She held out her arm and Shell gave her an exasperated look; of course she couldn’t risk getting salt water into the prosthetic, but still, Rosa always managed to make the fact that she had an artificial hand work for her. 

‘Why did you come, then?’ Shell stepped over the lip of the pond to rack the squeegee and Rosa skipped back out of range.

‘To show you something that’ll make you smile.’ She reached into her pocket to bring out a square of paper; Shell showed her gunky hands, so Rosa unfolded the flier and held it up for her to see. ‘Comicsans Samurai, at the Pit. And…’ 

At the sight of the familiar logo Shell whooped like a glad’ fan. ‘Bleach Bouquet? For real?’ 

‘For real,’ agreed Rosa. ‘I’ve got ma’s dustscoot and a six of sodas: if you scrub off the gunk I’ll go charm your Pa, then we can get you looking all shiny.’ 

Shell could never stay annoyed with Rosa, she was so full of life, making everything round her seem brighter and more possible. She flicked the valve to set fresh brine gurgling through the hoses. ‘Will you help me paint my hair?’

Half an hour later, hair freshly purpled and in her vinyl with the gascan decal on the back Shell hopped up onto the dustscoot as Rosa brought it buzzing into life. ‘Come on, Shrimp Girl, time to blow this joint.’ The sun was just down and the heat already starting to fade: the wind whipped Shell’s hair round her face as they left the cluster of polydomes and storage sheds behind. Rosa glanced back at her with a sly grin. ‘Think Counterfeit Kay will be there tonight?’ 

Shell gritted her teeth. ‘Probably with Blackout - they’re joined at the hip these days.’ She leaned her chin on Rosa’s shoulder. ‘I need a better name. Shell Shrimpgirl, why’d that have to be the one to stick?’ 

Rosa huffed. ‘You think you have it bad? Try being Rosa One-Arm.’ 

Shell poked her in the small of the back. ‘Like anyone dares call you that now.’ 

Rosa shook out her hair, tickling Shell’s nose. ‘So pick a better tag. Star Strike. Neon Flare. Gasoline Ghost.’ She snickered and Shell poked her again. 

‘It’s OK for you,’ she told Rosa, ‘your ma’s place is cool.’ Bella Muerte’s the go-to barter for circuits and engine parts; just about all the killjoy crews roll through on the regular. ‘Only customer we ever see is Gravel Gertie trying to get a bulk discount.’ 

Rosa let out one of her barking laughs. ‘What I do for ma isn’t glamorous, sitting stripping miles of wire casings or matching fiddly little screws. And the one time a real celeb showed up, what happened?’ 

Shell had to snort in Rosa’s ear: everyone’s heard the story of how twelve-year-old Zona Rosa yelled at Jet Star because she’d dropped a whole box of fuses when she saw him walk in. ‘Still beats the brine ponds, though.’ She scratched at the scaly patch that crept up the side of her neck – like she was half shrimp herself, Pa always joked. 

Rosa slowed the scoot so she didn’t have to shout. ‘What’s eating you?’ she asked gently. 

‘It’s -‘ Grit from the road stung Shell’s face, too fine to see. ‘Pa’s eyes are getting worse. All filmy, yanno?’ Rosa couldn’t not have seen it when she talked to him. ‘He says he’s still fine, but he’s starting to drop things or trip over them, and since last month he has to have me read the dials on the aerator and the thermo for him. When it gets worse he won’t be able to do without me.’ Saying it felt like a weight settling on her chest. ‘So I guess I’ll be Shell ShrimpGirl all my life.’ 

‘It’s not a bad living, sparkle,’ said Rosa, the teasing gone. ‘Farming’s important, everyone in the Zones needs you.’ 

‘Sure they do.’ The engine picked up again and Shell squinted ahead where the lights of the Pit fanned up against the sky. ‘Everyone likes to eat and no one wants to do the dirty work.’ 

As soon Shell as jumped down from the dustscoot the bass thud of the music came trembling under her feet and a wave of anticipation curled up in her stomach. Rosa grinned at her expression as she reached for the sodas, but before they reached the door two voices shrieked, ‘Zee! Shell!’ and the M&Ms engulfed them in a blur of black and white. 

‘You’ve got to come see,’ Mercy gasped, ‘quick, before we lose him!’ Mercy and Magenta said they were twins, and for all Shell knew it was true – they always dressed exactly alike, tonight with dead black hair and spiky eyelashes above pale droid uniforms. 

Rosa threw her arms around them. ‘What’s the emergency?’ 

‘Kobra Kid’s here,’ Magenta enthused. ‘We saw him.’

‘Well, the back of his head,’ admitted Mercy. ‘But it’s him, swear it.’ 

‘You go,’ Shell said quickly; Rosa rolled her eyes as the pair of them tugged her away, chattering excitedly, but Shell couldn’t be sorry, not when the music was bursting out of the door like a live thing, ready to reel her in straight to its pounding heart.

On the stage Comicsans Samurai were already turbocharging through their set and Shell threw herself headlong into the crowd, letting its heat and abandon swallow her whole. She wasn’t one of the cool kids, standing back and looking superior: she’d never wanted to be. Music made her come alive, lit her up and turned her into someone fearless, with passion and rage. Hearing it on the radio was never enough – what she needed was to be there, be part of it, and when Bleach Bouquet took the stage Shell let the music take her over, jumping and screaming as Sunboy drummed and Molly Zero-Zero thrashed at their guitar: the songs seemed to look right inside her, splitting her open to show the better, stronger person she could be.

Then, as though no time had passed, the show was done and the band packing up, and she fell back into herself, Shell Shrimp-girl again. She found Rosa sitting with the M&Ms and took the half-finished soda they offered. ‘Did you find Kobra Kid?’ she asked.

‘Wasn’t him,’ admitted Mercy, ‘just some sand pup who looked like him from behind.’

‘If you’re here to spot famous killjoys, I can help,’ came a lazy voice, and there was Taz-Maniac, cocking his hip and grinning under his blue-green mask. Shell sighed inwardly: count on him to turn up wherever Rosa was. 

‘Taz!’ squealed Magenta.

Rosa didn’t seem so delighted; she grabbed Shell’s arm and pulled her down beside her. ‘Enjoy the show?’ she asked.

‘The Bleach are the best.’ Shell glanced back longingly to the stage where Molly and their bandmates were coiling leads and unplugging amps. ‘Did you hear Molly Z’s vocal? And Sunboy’s beat on the new song? They’re killer.’ 

Taz snickered. ‘Guess Molly Z gets their practice yelling in the machine shop. And Sunboy’s down at the market in Zone 3 hauling canisters when he’s not beating them.’ 

Shell scowled at him. ‘Who cares about that, when they play music like they do?’ 

‘We all work for a living,’ agreed Rosa sharply. ‘Wouldn’t get far without gas, or electronics and food.’ 

‘All helps,’ shrugged Taz condescendingly. He patted the gun in the holster on his hip. ‘But killing Dracs is what counts. Ghost or be ghosted, baby.’ 

He was so sure of himself, waiting to be admired; and that was all anyone cared about, wasn’t it, masks and guns and fighting. No one wanted to farm or craft or look after orphans and anyone who did was always bottom of the heap, no matter what Rosa said. 

‘Hey, you guys ready to split?’ Taz was looking at Rosa as he asked. ‘Heard there’s a bunch of box-fresh stuff at the Nest right now: Ono-Sendai came by with some sweet hardware.’ 

Rosa opened her mouth, but before she could speak Mercy nudged her. ‘Sure. We can get a ride with Rosa, can’t we?’ 

Rosa shook her head doubtfully. ‘Won’t fit both of you on the scoot, and Ma would kill me if I crunched it.’ 

‘One of you can ride with me,’ offered Taz and that seemed to settle it; when they headed back outside Magenta was quicker, sliding onto the seat of his bike and grabbing the back of his jacket, and Shell had to stamp down the tiny treacherous part of her that wished it was her roaring off with him instead of squeezing onto the dustscoot behind Rosa with Mercy’s elbow digging into her side.

\--

The party at the Nest was a permanent state: whatever time of day you arrived there was always someone setting up targets for shooting or starting a fire and sharing out bottles. The M&Ms were swept up instantly into the yelling group around a games console, but Taz stopped. ‘Want to go see what’s for trade?’ 

‘No carbons,’ said Shell, but Taz pushed up his mask to look optimistically at Rosa. 

‘Bella Muerte’s got to have something useful.’ 

‘And it’s going to stay that way.’ Rosa slung her arm round Shell and stood back, scanning the room. ‘Who’s that?’ She nodded her head towards a boy sitting on his own on a saggy sofa, a backpack at his feet: he was wearing an ultra cutoff in neon green with a rising sun painted on, but he looked stiff and uncertain, fiddling with the beads round his neck. 

‘Him?’ Taz shrugged. ‘Part of Sendai-san’s delivery, fresh out of Batt Cit. Doesn’t know shit.’ Shell didn’t need telling that the boy was city-born: his skin was pale, like he’d never been in the sun, but he was big, and though his hair was long, starting to curl, it was smooth and shiny – you could see he’d grown up with plenty to eat and good medicine and all the stuff that BLI hands out.

Rosa frowned. ‘Should he be on his own?’ 

‘He’s a batt rat,’ said Taz dismissively, ‘he’s beamless,’ but Rosa was already marching over to the sofa. 

The boy looked up as they approached, Taz trailing reluctantly in their wake. ‘What’s your name?’ Rosa demanded. ‘I’m Zona Rosa.’ 

He jutted his chin up nervously. ‘Dust Storm.’ Taz didn't bother to stifle his snort of derision, but the boy's gaze was riveted on Rosa’s hand. 

Shell tapped her foot against his boot. ‘I’m Shell.’ 

He jerked his eyes up to her, face flushing, and Rosa sat down beside him without being asked. ‘Taz says you’re new.’ Shell sat down on the other side of him: the hand gripping his knee was white round the knuckles. ‘Sendai-san bring you out?’ 

Dust Storm nodded. ‘Been waiting for my chance. Listening to the radio, trying to learn what I need to join a crew.’ 

Taz laughed. ‘Dream on, pup. You’re so uncooked you’re still raw – no crew’s going to take you on.’ 

‘I can fight.’ The boy sat up straighter. ‘No one else here is doing much either. I thought we’d be, I don’t know, making bombs or doing raids, but everyone just sits round playing or shooting at cans.’ 

‘Bored?’ Taz snickered. ‘Wait till the Dracs come calling, juvie, you won’t be bored then.’ 

The boy swallowed. ‘Seriously?’ 

‘Drac patrols don’t usually come this far.’ Rosa gave Taz a warning look. ‘And WKIL mostly gets a warning out if they do.’ 

Taz patted his holster. ‘Then me and the crew take care of them for you.’ 

‘Don’t need anyone to take care of me,’ objected the boy stubbornly. ‘I’m not scared.’ 

Taz cackled. ‘Then you’re dumb - plenty you should be afraid of out here. They tell you about the ghostzones? And the sandtraps? How about the Mission?’ He grinned wide and nasty. ‘The Crows peg people out next to their crazy church and leave them so their birds can pick out the soft parts.’ The boy shrank back and even Shell shivered; Pa always said the Mission was just a story, but she’d never been quite sure. 

Rosa turned on him. ‘Shut up, _Billy-Jo_.’ 

Taz scowled. ‘If you’re going to be a bitch then I’m out of here.’ 

‘Don’t pay him any attention,’ Shell told the boy as Taz stalked away. ‘He’s been acting all plus-one since Santa Sangre took him on her crew, but he came out from Batt City once just like you.’ 

Rosa giggled. ‘He’s Taz-Maniac now, but we remember when he was calling himself Billy-Jo Chevrolet.’ 

The boy looked from her to Shell and back again. ‘You’re not in his gang?’ The idea was so funny Shell snorted with laughter and Dust Storm flushed again like she was teasing him too. ‘What happened to your arm, then?’ 

Rosa clicked her tongue, impatient, and Shell answered for her. ‘Radiation.’ She tugged at the collar of her shirt to show him the scaly patches running down her neck and chest. ‘We were born out here. It’s tough on kids.’ She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. ‘Tough on everyone. But it’s still better out here than in the city.’ 

‘For sure.’ Rosa’s warm hand squeezed hers silently. 

‘So if you’re not killjoys, what do you do?’ asked Dust Storm cautiously. 

‘My ma’s a circuit digger.’ At his blank expression Rosa sighed. ‘She specialises in scrounging up electronics, out in the deadlands. I do board-stripping and soldering for her. And Shell and her dad run a shrimp farm.’ 

Dust Storm eyed her suspiciously, like they might still be making him the butt of a joke. ‘Shrimp? In the desert?’ 

‘For true,’ Shell assured him. ‘We breed them up in polydomes. The sun keeps the brine warm and they make good protein.’ 

‘What do you think we eat out here?’ asked Rosa patiently. 

‘PowerPup.’ Dust Storm pulled an expressive face as he glanced to the empty cans on the table. 

Rosa wrinkled her nose. ‘When we can’t get anything else. Real food’s better.’ 

'Real food?' Dust Storm looked confused. ‘Doesn't it all come from the city? I didn't think you could grow stuff out here.’ 

Shell laughed. ‘Of course we can. We've got hydroponics, fungus farms, aquaculture - who d’you think see severyone's fed?’ 

‘Or scrounges up parts to keep the motors running, or doctors people if they’re hurt?’ added Rosa. 

The boy looked down, sullen, ‘Guess I never thought about it.’ 

‘How old are you?’ Shell asked abruptly. 

‘Eighteen.’ Rosa raised her eyebrows silently and Dust Storm hunched, looking mulish. ‘Fifteen.’ 

Younger than both of them, and he’d left everything he knew behind and come out ready to struggle and fight. Shell thought about what it would be like to leave Pa and the trailer and heading out into the unknown. ‘You must be brave,’ she told him, ‘coming out here thinking it was all dust and Dracs and dogfood.’ 

Rosa nudged him, waiting until he smiled reluctantly. ‘There’s good stuff too, the Zone 5 funfair and the museum, and blistering music fests.’ 

Shell grinned at the enthusiasm that bloomed on his face. ‘Some of the bands are blue-hot.'

‘So what are you going to do out here?’ Rosa asked practically. ‘Taz is glitchy but he’s right, no crew’s going to take you on still uncooked.’ 

Dust Storm shrugged. ‘Maybe I could, I don’t know, help out at the radio station?’ 

Over his head Shell saw Rosa roll her eyes. ‘Can you fix the transmitter? Keep the solar panels working?’ 

‘No.’ He kicked at the bag next to his feet, thinking. ‘Guess I could help your ma go looking for stuff.’ 

Rosa scoffed. ‘She wouldn’t take you, you’re too young. Everywhere’s scavenged out that isn’t a hotspot - no one goes in those places till after they’ve had kids. Don’t they teach you anything?’ 

At that Dust Storm jerked his head up angrily, finally meeting her gaze. ‘Of course they don’t. They teach us to take the pills and do what we’re told. No one cooks, food comes ready to heat. And computers – you don’t repair them, you just get a new one. I don’t know anything about making or growing things, why would I?’ 

‘Let him be, Rosa,’ Shell said, then to him, ‘Can you lift and carry? Work with a rake or a mop, and read a temperature gauge?’ The boy nodded warily. ‘My dad’s not seeing as well as he was, and if there’s another pair of hands around he probably won’t say no.’ 

‘You mean on your farm?’ Dust Storm asked warily, but Shell could see that he was going to say yes. 

‘It’s not much of a place,’ Shell began, but Rosa interrupted her. ‘Hey, now. It’s a smart operation and your Pa is rainbow.’ 

‘I could do all that.’ The boy looked happier than the prospect seemed to justify, and Shell wanted to ask if he had a family of his own and what happened to them, but time enough for that. She jumped to her feet. ‘Come on.’ 

‘Now?’ asked Dust Storm, but he was already reaching for his backpack. 

‘We can fit him on the scoot, can’t we?’ Shell asked Rosa, who smiled. 

‘We can.’ As they headed to the door Rosa let him drift ahead a step or two so she could lean in to mutter in Shell’s ear, ‘Tell you what, the two of you can be the famous Shrimp Twins.’

**Author's Note:**

> Speak to me: fontainebleau22.tumblr.com


End file.
